


Fourteen Statements

by KissJupiter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Basically all the Magnus Archives creepiness, Bisexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Body Horror, Elias Bouchard - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jonathan "Jon" Sims - Freeform, M/M, Martin Blackwood - Freeform, Martin is worried, My own attempts at a statement, Not Sasha - Freeform, Original Character(s), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Stalking, The Magnus Archives Season 2, Tim Stoker - Freeform, jon is paranoid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissJupiter/pseuds/KissJupiter
Summary: Jon Sims is the Archivist of The Magnus Institute and is incredibly stressed. Following the attack of Jane Prentiss the archives have been unusually bustling with all sorts wanting to make a statement, being in the papers would do that; and while Jonathan Sims stews in a swamp of paranoia and suspicion he also has to deal with the archives' new popularity. Most of those who come to archive are foolish kids wanting to win a bet or drunkards just wanting cause a blunder...but these fourteen statements are something more.Basically fourteen statements having to do with the Entities.
Kudos: 1





	Fourteen Statements

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is basically my attempt to write a spooky anthology using the Magnus Archives' universe. This all takes place during season two and involves in-person statements/events from subjects of my own design. I really hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Chapter Warning-Blood and reference to assault.

"I really think another few days of rest would do you some good Jon," Elias suggested, face painted with that expression of concern that sent those with less stubborn spines slinking sheepishly back home under "bosses orders" but you were never the type to use those sorts of excuses. You sigh, settling back into your office chair behind your desk with a satisfying rustle of leather and cloth before settling a glower at the Head of the Magnus Institute.

"Thank you very much for your concern Elias, but I am fine, really," You gesture towards the door that exited out into the rest of the archive, "Now if you would excuse me."

Elias gives you one final pleading look before departing from your space, and you take a moment to relax back in an element that you have not found yourself in quite a while. The twinge of pain in your bandaged wounds is little compared to the honest comfort you found in being surrounded in all this knowledge. The scent of old books and paper still a welcoming breath of air despite what might be thousands of the still rotting worm carcasses that lay beneath your very feet in the tunnels. Quickly removing what little paperwork you keep in your bag you begin to file through old statement boxes searching for whatever salvaged files from the Prentiss attack that may be a clue about Gertrude's death, or perhaps why Prentiss attacked the Institute in the first place. You are startled out of your stupor by a knock on the door, quickly followed by its subsequent opening. 

"Excuse me, are you Jonathan Sims?" A female voice called out, surprisingly with an American accent. You look up from your position elbow deep in a box of statements and see tall and slender looking young woman. Her face appeared attractive but sunken, and her brown eyes though crinkled with a friendly smile showed a tiredness that you can only assume to have come about from many sleepless nights. Oh, how you could sympathize. However, what really stood out was her head, shaved bald except for the slightest of dyed blue fuzz. 

“Um, yes.” You manage to stumble out, frankly a bit taken aback by a foreign woman asking for you. She seemed to read your puzzlement because she quickly entered the room, closing the door behind her and swinging an overly large plastic bag and a smaller purse at her side. She took long confident strides approaching you, reaching out her hand to shake.

“Kelly Sanderson, it’s nice to meet you,” she glanced half-heartedly at the door after taking your hand, “I was told I could make my statement with you?”  
You blinked at her as she took her seat on one of the chairs opposite your desk, crossing her long legs and sitting with not an impatience but an eagerness to share. You quickly sit on the other side, hoping that you did not appear too annoyed with her presence.

“I apologize Miss Sanderson but I’m afraid we take your statement just across the hall in the interview room,” you inform her, “if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me I would be happy to take your statement.”

She nodded and swiftly stood from her seat, appearing to be slightly distressed that you were moving rooms, but made no complaints as the two of you entered the interview room. A table and two chairs sitting inside the empty space, somehow a tape recorder already placed in the center of it. Kelly Sanderson walked and sat down on one of the seats, another grin sneaking its way onto her lips.

“Amazing!” She exclaimed, looking fascinated, “I thought things this old would be in a museum by now, or my dad’s garage, he loves collecting old junk like this.”  
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You really didn’t want to deal with some overexcited American gawking at the many older technologies of the Institute, and you really didn’t want to listen to whatever story she had dreamed up to look cool and edgy to her “alternative” friends. Whoever sent her your way was going to feel your wrath, and you suspected Martin. 

“Excuse me, Miss Sanderson,” She glanced up, “your statement.”

Her smile dropped completely, now staring into the middle-distance and pulling at the long sleeves of her sweater. 

“Right, of course, I’m sorry.”

You sit down opposite her, placing a fresh tape within the recorder before starting the recording.

“Please state your name for the record,” You start, sitting back a waiting for her to start. 

She took a deep breath, her eyes still staring off, but it appeared as if she were focusing on some memory, and the expression on her face look uncomfortable. 

“Um, Kelly Sanderson.” 

“And what is this regarding?”

“Regarding…a problem with my bathtub and plumbing.” You stare at her incredulously, seriously doubting the validity of whomever decided her statement was worthy to be on the record. Maybe Martin just wanted you to take your mind off the whole Prentiss thing, or maybe Tim fancied her, either way you sighed and continued. 

“Statement taken direct from subject 29th September 2016,” You glance again at the woman, she pulled again at her sleeves. “Miss Sanderson, please continue.”

“Right, okay. I moved to London two years ago, after graduating from college with a bachelor’s in business and getting a job that lets your travel a lot. There are a lot of perks about being a traveling salesperson. But no matter what job you manage to get settled with there is always a bit of stress that comes with the company.  
And well, to deal with the stress, I took baths. Ever since I was little, I really enjoyed a good bath. Whether it be the soapy bubbles or the submerging myself in water it was something that made me feel comfortable. I remember back when I was still young, I would put my head under the water and feel my hair wrap and curl around my face and shoulders. It was almost as if I was living under the water, and there was nothing above me but the hot refreshing steam. As disgusting as it may seem to some, it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I liked the feeling of coming home from a long business trip and taking a nice long soak in the bath instead of a shower in ratty company paid motels with mildew stained tiles. When I first moved here, it was difficult finding an apartment…excuse me, flat, that really suited my tastes, instead I lived with whomever I may be in bed with until she and I would inevitably break up. I never knew why, but we would always drift apart, usually a girl would say I was smothering, but I don’t think so.

Regardless, I managed to find an apartment to my liking in Westminster about a three weeks ago. I know, a long time to live somewhere with no permanent residence, I guess when you are on the road all the time it doesn’t really matter where you call home. All I really wanted was a nice place to soak my bones and relax at the end of the day.  
Anyway, the place was called Dreamers Suites, on Alderny Street. It was a small flat, one bedroom and no real kitchen besides a gas stove, refrigerator, and small sink and counterspace to do the dishes. The carpets were old and worn and there were frayed ends from where a cat had definitely used its claws to scrape the carpet and the landlord had never gotten it fixed, but I didn’t mind that. No, not when he showed me the bathroom. Inside was a porcelain clawfoot tub, the pure white being so out of place in such a run-down flat. Its legs jutting out into long alabaster rivulets that almost seemed to be embedded into the floor itself. When I asked about this, the landlord, Isiah Meyer joked that it was to stop the tub from “running away.” 

I remember laughing and turning to ask him again but when I turned, he was already out the door and asking about when I wanted to move in. I said I had a few other potential places to check out, but I didn’t leave the bathroom. I just kept staring at the bath and thinking just how nice it would be to crawl inside of it after a long day. After what had seemed like hours Isiah returned to the bathroom, holding a leasing contract and a glass of water out towards me, his face peeled back into a wide smile.  
I signed the papers that very night and after a few more days of moving boxes and explaining to my job my new residence I was back in that flat…back in that bathroom.”  
Kelly paused her statement, gazing up at you as she wrung her hands together almost like she did not want to keep going.

“My first bath in that tub was nothing short of heaven on Earth…at first. I had filled up the bath with steaming water, the rubber stopper plugging the drain fine enough and as I submerged myself into the water I felt a sense of contentment that I was lacking so desperately since I’d come to London. I relaxed in the water, letting the day melt off me like a second skin, and soon I felt myself drift away in a blissful soak. My hair was long you know, passed my waist. So, when I lay there, and felt a tug on a section of hair I had just assumed that some wayward body part was pulling on it wrong. 

I tried to adjust but that just seemed to tighten whatever grip was on my hair, and I was soon struggling against a grasp that seemed to be pulling me lower and lower into the water. The painful pull of something as it yanked and twisted my hair down deeper into the water, and it took everything in me to keep my face above water. I remember thinking that this was how I was going to die, drowning in three feet of water because I couldn’t pull myself out of there. 

I honestly think that is what saved me, how pissed off I was that I was going to die because of something so insignificant. So, I pulled. I pulled and pulled with all my strength. I could feel my roots tearing from my scalp, and the burning water stung as I had noticed the sloshing liquid around me becoming stained pink. Even then I continued to fight against whatever threatened to pull me down. It felt like I was tearing at my hair for at least fifteen minutes before the final snap of follicles from scalp freed me from my endless battle against my captor. I scrambled out of the water as fast as I could slamming my soaked body onto the cold tile floor and bruising my knees and elbows with the sheer force of myself getting out that fucking tub. I heard the drain gurgling and I sighed with an overwhelming feeling of relief, If the plug had simply slipped that was unlucky but explainable, however…”

Another pause, you could see her hands shaking as she reached to the back of her head to feel at something. 

“What I saw when I looked back in the tub…There was clumps of long brown hair, the places where they had been torn from my head I could still see wet bits of flesh that had been pulled from my skull along with it. The red blood still seemed to be sloshing within the tub.

But that wasn’t what I had noticed first. No. 

What I saw squeezing its way from the drainpipe, inching ever so slowly out of a hole I knew was far too small to fit…was an arm. A pale slimy arm, tinged green with mildew and algae feeling its way against the bottom the tub, its fingertips probing gently almost, curiously against the porcelain. I watched as this pale white appendage slither its way around. It was…longer than an arm should be, like worm or I don’t know a long white snake? It found the locks of my hair within the tub, and I watched as it turned to me, and though I didn’t see any eyes I know it was staring…and it was disappointed. I watched as the arm swiftly retreated into the drainpipe, slurping my hair along with it.  
Needless to say, I did not stay in my new flat that night, or any night since. I stayed with my ex-girlfriend Yvanna Ulrochson and her boyfriend Kenneth Dune until I could get myself back in working order. Funny enough they both want me to stay with them now. I like it there, they both love me a lot, and they don’t mind that I only take sponge baths now. Yvanna is a sweetheart, she took me the hospital as soon as I showed up bleeding from my head and muttering incoherently. She thought I had been assaulted. Hell, I guess she was right. I shaved my head as soon as the stiches could be removed, had already cut it short the day after the hospital. In the end it was Yvanna and Ken’s idea to dye it blue, said I should try out a new look. 

She sighed again, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes, and sniffling slightly. You hand her a handkerchief and she manages a small chuckle. 

“So,” she takes a deep breath, handing back your handkerchief without using it, “is this all that you need?”

“Well, we will do our own investigation into the matter rest assured, but I’m not promising we’ll find anything.” You warn her, and she gives a rueful smile in return. 

“Honestly, I hope you don’t, at least then I’m just crazy and there’s not actually some kind of creature living in the sewers of London. Please let me know if you find anything though. Ken and Yvanna believe me, and I kind of find their support more frightening.”

You gape at her for moment as she sits there and ponders something before pulling the plastic bag from her side and reaching inside. You gasp as she pulls out long locks of light brown hair, placing the sectioned off strands onto the table.

“Miss Sanderson!” You exclaim, pulling the tape recorder away from the hair now beginning to pile up onto the table. 

“If you feel up to it,” She whispers, a grave expression on her face, “you can try and go fishing with this.”  
************  
“Well, after that display Miss Sanderson calmly left the Institute without another word. I for one am not one who enjoys fishing, so we did throw the hair out in the end. 

After a bit of research Tim discovered that there was indeed a Emergency Room visit by a Miss Kelly Sanderson back in the beginning of September and she was given a total of eleven stiches due to lacerations that covered the base of Miss Sanderson’s skull and behind her ears. Miss Sanderson refused to state how she had ended up injured, but a Miss Ulrochson is written to have stated that Miss Sanderson had been assaulted. 

Sasha managed to find a bit on the Dreamers Suites, built in 1945 in Westminster City and has not been renovated since its creation. She and Martin did go the apartment and apparently brought the hair with them, much to my overwhelming disgust and exasperation and other than a stained pink clawfoot tub and some stray hairs, nothing seemed amiss. 

However, when Sasha asked to explore the flat parallel to Miss Sanderson’s they found much the same layout. Photographs taken by Sasha and Martin show the two flats in their entirety, and there is something that is odd. The drain in the clawfoot in Miss Sanderson’s flat…is far too wide. And I cannot help but think, staring into those darkened pipes, how hungrily those tunneled waterways invite you in…

End recording.”  
**************  
“Supplemental: My days go by and I do not sleep. I wonder why Gertrude was murdered, shot by hands that do not come from pipes. No, she was murdered by someone in this Institute, and I will not rest until I find out.  
End Supplemental.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first chapter...done. Can you guess which on the Entities was inspiration for this one? Heeheehee >:D


End file.
